


Pulchritudinous Malfeasance

by SelanPike



Category: Mobsterswitch - Fandom, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Mobsterswitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelanPike/pseuds/SelanPike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man who would become Peccant Scofflaw has arrived in Metropolis Central. He is little more than a hobo, fresh out of the desert carrying only the clothes on his back and the sword on his hip. Someday, he will conquer this city. For now, he needs to figure out how to pay his rent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter one.

      There was a light on the horizon.

      Peculiar Inventor noticed it first, as he was starting to come out of his dehydration-induced haze. He stared at it for a good long while, as his companion busied himself with other things.

      Perspicacious Solicitor was starting a fire near the riverbank. This was the best day he and Inventor had had in—well. Ever, probably. They found a river. There were trees growing along the river, some of which even had fruit growing from them. The fruit wasn’t exactly ripe yet, but Solicitor picked some and stowed it in his bag anyway.  Grass grew along the damp soil—so different from the sands of the desert, just yards away—and the river itself was clean and sparkling, fish darting to and fro just below the surface. Innovator curled his fingers in the soft grass and wondered if this is what paradise is like. He stared at the light on the horizon.

      He mentioned it to Solicitor, who was dismissive. Solicitor was probably too tired to properly appreciate the implications of finding this river, let alone think about their future prospects. He’d been wandering the desert too long, carrying Inventor on his back. Inventor decided to talk to him about it later. Instead he gathered up their canteens and bottles, took them to the water and filled each one. Then he set about trying to catch some dinner although, lacking any tools or experience in catching fish, he was not particularly successful.

      Solicitor ended up helping Inventor, drawing his Regisword and spearing a fish.

      Between the fish and the fruit, it was the most substantial meal they’d had in months.

      Solicitor fell asleep as soon as he was done eating. Inventor didn’t sleep. He laid there, curled around Solicitor, watching the light in the distance and wondering what it could be.

      Inventor brought it up again in the morning. Solicitor squinted at the horizon, but the sun was cresting over the hills and the light was no longer visible. Inventor hoped that Solicitor wouldn’t think that he was imagining things.

      “Y’ said it looks like it’s on th’ river?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

      “Y--yes,” Inventor replied.

      Solicitor shrugged, then stowed away his canteen and sword.

      “May ‘s well get movin’, then.”

      Solicitor remained cautiously optimistic as they followed the river upstream. He speculated that it might be an outpost, which had been Inventor’s first thought as well. Solicitor said it could just as easily be, who knows, a volcano or some sort of horrible glowbeast or something.

      Inventor considered this possibility, and had to admit that it seemed more likely, considering his luck.

      By the time the sun set again, the two were closer and could make out faint silhouettes rising out of the glow. Buildings, maybe. Tall ones. A city.

      “Prolly some ruins,” Solicitor noted.

      “People could have s-settled in them,” Inventor added. “Got the, the electricity back up.”

      Solicitor nodded.

      Solicitor caught two fish that evening. The two exiles fell asleep speculating on how many people might be in that city.

      They walked for two days, and when night fell on that second day they could see all the lights of the city in all their splendor. This couldn’t be some tiny outpost, squatting in the decrepit ruins of an old city. This had to be the real deal, a proper metropolis. Their days of walking the desert would soon be over. They would rejoin civilization, not have to worry about the hot sun or rabid hoofbeasts or where to find food and water.

      Inventor hoped they had tea.

      He found Solicitor smiling, grinning wider than he’d ever seen before.

      “It’s, ahh.” Inventor stumbled, looking for the right word and failing to find it. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

      Solicitor nodded.

      They stood there for a little while, staring at the city sprawling before them, before Solicitor said, “I want it.”

      “W--we’ll be there soon,” Inventor assured him. “Probably umm, in another day or so.”

      Solicitor shook his head, brushing his overgrown hair out of his face. “No, no. I want it. Like. ‘m gonna make ‘t mine.”

      Inventor almost chuckled, but the sound got caught in his throat. How long had it been since he’d laughed?

      “I’m s-sure you will,” Inventor said.

      They resumed walking the next morning and arrived in the city before sunset. The transition from desert to city was gradual, with small, abandoned buildings rising out of the sand, followed by larger ones, followed by ones that actually looked to be in use. From looking at signs on storefronts and banks, Inventor discerned that the city was named Metropolis Central. He wondered what it was central to.

      Inventor spent a lot of time staring at the taller buildings in the distance, in what seemed to be the downtown district. Once he looked down and started paying more attention to his immediate surroundings, he found himself hiding behind Solicitor. It was crowded, and people were giving them funny looks. Solicitor noticed his friend’s unease.

      “We look like a couple ‘f vagrants,” he said by way of explanation, tugging on his own beard.

      Inventor looked at his clothes, which by this point were nothing but tattered shrouds. He bit his nails and looked at the people around them, all nicely dressed in clothes that probably didn’t come with them from Prospit and Derse. “W-we. How do we, um.”

      Solicitor brushed his hair aside and glanced around. He seemed to think for a moment.

      “Step one,” he said. “We gotta get money.”

      Before Inventor could point out how obvious that statement was, and how it solved literally nothing, Solicitor ducked into a nearby alley. Inventor followed and found him trying to climb into a dumpster.

      “Gimme a boost, Inny,” he said.

      Inventor was far too weak to lift Solicitor, despite the man’s shorter stature. Instead he crouched down to let Solicitor climb onto his back. Solicitor rummaged through the trash until he found a banged-up plastic bowl, then hopped back onto the ground and dashed out of the alley. Inventor followed him to a busy corner in front of a small grocery store. He sat on the sidewalk, against the wall, and motioned for Inventor to sit next to him. He put the bowl in front of Inventor and leaned in close.

      He whispered, “Look like you’re dyin’, okay?”

      Inventor shot him a look. At any given time, Inventor looked like he was dying. It was his natural state of being. Solicitor smiled, and seemed to interpret this as confusion, because he added, “Trust me, okay? Jus’ pretend like you’re too tired t’ go on. Take a nap if y’ wanna. Jus’ look sickly for me.”

      Inventor pulled his hood over his eyes and laid down. Solicitor gave his head a pat. “Good, yeah, jus’ like that. You’re a damn natural. Now jus’ lemme do th’ talkin’, arrite?”

      Inventor had no qualms with that.

      Solicitor waited a couple of minutes--probably so that anyone who overheard him giving Inventor instructions would pass--and then started panhandling. It wasn’t long before Inventor heard someone stop in front of them and drop a coin in the bowl. He couldn’t help but feel underwhelmed by Solicitor’s plan.

      Solicitor thanked the benefactor kindly, and asked if they would like to hear his story. With an amused tone of voice they say yeah, sure.

      Inventor tensed. Solicitor didn’t really mean to tell a complete stranger that story, did he? It seemed awfully personal, and surely there had to be people in this city who would want revenge on Solicitor for the things he’d done.

      Thankfully, the story Solicitor told was not the one he’d told Inventor in the desert. This was a grand tale, a story of courage and betrayal. He was a natural storyteller--this is something Inventor learned in the desert, when Solicitor would regale him with stories from his youth in the Dersite capital. It was no surprise when more people on the street stopped to listen to him speak.

      He weaved his tale carefully, in such a way to draw sympathy from the Prospitians in the crowd, and pity from the Dersites. He even managed to keep anyone from begrudging them the fact that they were very clearly both shadow mages. It was the perfect sob story, despite not a word of it being true. As he neared the story’s end, Inventor could hear clink after clink as more money was thrown into the bowl.

      Solicitor thanked everyone. The crowd dispersed, its members wishing the two exiles luck. Inventor continued to act half-dead. Once it sounded like the coast was clear, Inventor peeked up and looked in the bowl.

      “Not bad, eh?” Solicitor said as he sifted through the money. “Jesus, that fat guy dropped a fifty. How much do ya’ think that is? Think it translates t’ Boonbucks ’r what?”

      Inventor shrugged, then looked in the window of the grocery store. “It looks like milk is ahh, f-four fifty.”

      “So this’s good, then.” Solicitor shoved some cash in his pockets, then stowed the larger bills in Inventor’s clothes. He left a few coins at the bottom of the bowl and ruffled Inventor’s hair through his hood. “We’ll jus’ do this a li’l longer ‘n I think we’ll have enough t’ get started.”

      Inventor nodded, then put his head back down.

      Solicitor told the story two more times, both times gaining the same reaction from the crowd. After that, the two pocketed their latest money, discarded the bowl, and left the corner. Their first stop was the grocery store whose wall they had borrowed. They picked up lunch, and found a park bench on which to eat it. Inventor had never been much of an eater--he’d been worryingly skinny even before exile--but he couldn’t help but relish the simple luxury of eating bread.

      After that, they found a secondhand clothing store.

      Solicitor grimaced at everything on the shelves before picking something out, a defeated look on his face.

      “We’ll get better shit later,” he grumbled. “Jus’ don’ wanna blow our whole stash at once.”

      Inventor looked at the clothes he had picked out. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with them. They were certainly cleaner than what he was currently wearing.

      “I s-suppose an Archagent is used to wearing nicer things,” he said, quietly enough that the cashier wouldn’t hear.

      Solicitor nodded. “Much nicer.”

      They didn’t change clothes right away. During one of Solicitor’s story sessions, a young Prospitian had told him about a nearby shelter for exiles like them. They kept the clothes in the little plastic bag they came in, and headed down the street in search of this shelter. Solicitor spent the whole time talking about how excited he was to be able to take a nice long shower, and maybe even sleep in a bed.

      “Th-they might only have cots,” Inventor warned him, “Or, or mats on the floor, or—“

      Solicitor reached up and papped Inventor’s cheek. “Don’ crush my dreams, darlin’.”

      The shelter was, as far as Inventor could tell from the outside, a dump. It was an old-looking building, cracked with chipping paint. Solicitor knocked on the faded wooden door, and a bright-faced young Dersite woman greeted them. She seemed to falter a bit at the sight of them, two shadow mages, but she did her best to hide it.

      “I’m sorry,” she said. “We’re already full for the night.”

      Inventor wasn’t surprised. Their luck had been too good already, there was no reason to expect things to keep going well. He started to walk away, but Solicitor grabbed him by the sleeve. He flashed a smile at the woman.

      “I don’ think we introduced ourselves,” he said to her. “This here’s my li’l brother, Peculiar Inventor. Ain’t he a doll? ‘n me, I’m Perky Soldier. Nice t’ meetcha.”

      The Dersite woman seemed to shrink under the weight of Solicitor’s smile. “Um. Y-yes. Nice to meet you. But like I said—“

      “Oh, it ain’t nothin’,” he insisted. “We got no problem sleepin’ on th’ floor ‘r whatever. ‘s all we did in th’ desert, right?”

      “Oh, right, that. That’s true.” She let out a weak chuckle, and toyed with her hair. “I’m not sure I can, though. Fire codes, and all.”

      “We won’t tell no one if you don’t,” he said.

      She struggled with the decision, chewing on her lip as she stared up at Solicitor and his wide smile and his green, green eyes.

      She opened the door.

      “Just for one night,” she said, letting the two pass.

      “’f course,” Solicitor replied, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She turned away quickly to shut the door, her face turning a deep shade of red.

      The showers were empty when Solicitor and Inventor got to them. The rest of the exiles were in the mess hall eating whatever cheap gruel they had. Solicitor and Inventor still had some food left over from their trip to the store, and Inventor preferred to avoid crowds whenever possible, so it seemed the best time to use the shower.

      They showered together. After all this time, they’d become accustomed to doing everything side by side.

      “How do you, um.” Inventor bent down so Solicitor could massage some shampoo into his hair. “I mean. Everyone’s been uh.”

      “They been doin’ what I want ‘em to?”

      “Y-yes.”

      He scrubbed at Inventor’s scalp, working out months worth of filth. “People usually do what I tell ‘em. ‘s my stat distribution.”

      Inventor nodded. His own stat distribution was weighted towards Imagination. He was always meant to be a scientist, and Imagination breeds intelligence and creativity. Of course the former Archagent would have favored Pulchritude, but Inventor had never seen that stat put to such good use.

      Quietly, he wondered if Solicitor had been using his Pulchritude on him.

      “You’re uh. R-really good at umm.”

      “Bein’ charismatic. I know.”

      Solicitor rinsed out Inventor’s hair.

      “Y-you. You could have been such a great Archagent.”

      “Coulda been,” he said, handing Inventor the bottle of shampoo. “’sa li’l late for that now.”

      Once they’d cleaned up, they donned their new clothes, happily discarding their old, sandy shrouds. They did not have a bed, instead claiming a little space in the corner. They slept in shifts, so that no one could take what money they had left. They left the shelter early the next morning.

      Inventor followed two steps behind Solicitor, watching his friend walk with purpose. “Where’re we going to s-sleep tonight?” he asked. He was content with an alley or something. It wasn’t very different from his childhood, sleeping on park benches and trees because he wasn’t welcome in his own home, but he was sure Solicitor wanted something better. “I mean umm. Do you think you’ll be able to, to sweet-talk the shelter workers again, or…?”

      Solicitor shook his head. “I could, but I ain’t gonna. I got sights higher’n that.”

      Before Inventor could ask him what he meant by that, Solicitor stopped him and motioned towards a barber shop.

      “Let’s say we finish our li’l makeover, shall we?”

      Solicitor pushed Inventor inside and told the barber to make the both of them look “dapper ‘s hell”. Twenty minutes later, the two were short-haired and free of facial hair. Inventor found himself gawking at his partner.

      “I know what’cher thinkin’,” he said, grinning that bright smile of his. “It’s, ‘oh no, he’s hot.’”

      Inventor frowned, turning away to look at himself in the mirror instead. “Oh please, Sol.”

      “’sa normal reaction,” he said, adjusting his collar. “I’m th’ finest man Derse ever did churn out. Not even m’ grey skin could keep th’ ladies offa me. ‘n the fellas too, ‘f course.”

      “I d-don’t think my hair’s ever been this short,” Inventor said, to try and get Solicitor to quit bragging.

      “’t looks good on ya’,” Solicitor said, slapping Inventor’s back. “Y’ look downright respectable.”

      Inventor tried not to blush.

      Solicitor paid the barber and led Inventor back outside. They walked down the street, until Solicitor pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket—it looked to be ripped out of a book, likely one of the books from the shelter—and looked at it.

      “Wh—where are we going?” Inventor asked.

      “Here,” Solicitor said, shoving the paper back into his pocket. “’san apartment buildin’. I think I can get us a roof over our heads.”

      “W-we don’t have enough m-money for that,” Inventor said. “P-pretty sure we don’t.”

      “Shh.” Solicitor smiled and patted Inventor’s back. “Jus’ keep quiet, I’ll handle everythin’.”

      Solicitor walked inside, with Inventor on his heels. There was an office near the front of the building, and Solicitor let himself in. The two had to wait a bit for the landlord to come back from some errands, and Solicitor spent the whole time flirting with his secretary. When the landlord finally returned Solicitor greeted him warmly, as though seeing an old friend, and shook his hand. He started out asking if there were any vacancies in the building—there were, several of them, and Inventor noted from the tone of his voice that this was probably more vacancies than he wanted. Solicitor didn't point this out. He simply told the landlord his and Inventor's story. Again, the story was false, and this one was entirely different from the one he had told before. The two of them were down on their luck, laid off from their jobs, but they totally found new ones. Thing was, the gap in paychecks got them thrown out on the streets, and they needed a place to stay. They'd be able to pay the deposit and rent by the first of the month—Inventor quietly wondered what day it was, and whether Solicitor had bothered to check—so can they please have a place?

      The landlord wasn't sure, but Solicitor kept at it, assuring him that he wouldn't regret it, he'd have his money soon enough, there was nothing to worry about.

      “We're right respectable young fellas,” Solicitor added, throwing an arm around Inventor's shoulders and grinning. “You can trust us.”

      In the end, they got the place.

      It was pre-furnished, just barely. Solicitor threw himself into the dusty old mattress and laughed.

      “I can't believe 'e bought it!”

      Inventor stood in the middle of the bedroom. It was a small place. Just a kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. There was only one bed. The dressers were falling apart and the sinks were running.

      “H-how are we going to pay rent?”

      “We'll figure 't out,” Solicitor said.

      “And th-the deposit,” Inventor added. “I. I don't think we c-can panhandle for that much.”

      “We'll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Solicitor said, sitting back up. “How much money we got left?”

      Inventor rummaged through his pockets. “Ninety eight dollars. A-and ten cents.”

      “Good. Next step 's get some groceries 'n a couple more changes 'f clothes. Get really settled in.”

      Inventor put the money away. “And look for j-jobs, right?”

      “Sure, yeah. T'morrow.”

      Solicitor held his arms out. Inventor frowned, then climbed into bed and hugged Solicitor.

      “So um.” Inventor rested his head on Solicitor's. “When you, ah, t-told me about, about everything you uh. You weren't just making it up, were you?”

      “I wouldn't lie about all that,” Solicitor said.

      “A-are you changing your name to P-Perky Soldier now?”

      “F'r now,” Solicitor said, leaning into Inventor. “Can't use my real name, 'm sure ev'ryone knows it 'n would wanna have words with me.”

      “A-at least I can still call you Sol.”

      “'ntil I think up somethin'better.”

      Inventor reflected on how quickly everything had changed. For the past few months all he and Solicitor had to worry about was the sun, the cold, and finding food and water. Now the desert was behind them, and they had no time to adjust before having to worry about things like jobs and rent.

      Solicitor papped his cheek.

      “You're thinkin', ain'tcha?”

      Inventor nodded.

      “Don't. Everythin'll be fine.”

      Inventor nodded again, then flopped down, taking Solicitor with him. “I g-guess even the gutter is, is better than the desert.”

      “At least water's not at a premium now,” Solicitor said. “We've got two sinks, Inny. All th' water we c'n drink!”

      “D-dehydration is a thing of the past.”

      Solicitor chuckled, wiggled out of Inventor's arms and rolled off the bed.

      “'ll head out 'n grab us some food,” he said. “How's about y' hold down th' fort, hmm?”

      Inventor nodded. Solicitor ruffled Inventor's hair, then left the apartment.

      Inventor lay on the bed for a while longer, staring at the ceiling and being quietly amazed with the whole situation. Their exile was over. They'd found their way out of the endless desert and found civilization again. They had clothes and water and a roof over their head.

      It was really over.

      He crawled out of bed and made his way to the window. The view was not spectacular. In fact, all he could see was another building across an alleyway. Through the reflection in a window he could see the city itself. A lone beacon rising out of the desert, shining and beautiful. No wonder Solicitor said he wanted it.

      Inventor's Imagination stat was impressive, but even he could not imagine how Solicitor could take a whole city.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two.

      He called himself Perky Soldier, and he told people he was an average infantryman. He told people he was exiled near the beginning, he didn't know much about the later parts of the war, he never saw the shadow mage purge.

      His name was actually Perspicacious Solicitor, and he was Derse's Archagent. It was a title that carried prestige but no power, much to his frustration. There were a lot of things he tried to do to help the people of Derse, but none of them ever worked out. He ended up in a caliginous affair with the Queen, which quickly turned violent.

      He very infamously spearheaded her assassination, and was exiled for it.

      Which is why he did not use his real name upon rejoining civilization.

      Inventor didn’t need to know what Solicitor was doing for money, now that they had made their way to this city. It would only worry him. All he needed to know was that he paid his half of the rent every month, and he did so on time. Inventor raised an eyebrow at the fact that it was always cash, but whenever he asked, Solicitor told him he’d been gambling.

      Inventor, meanwhile, got a job at a diner a block away from their apartment. Solicitor knew that Inventor hated the job, but Inventor was determined to pay the bills and Solicitor didn’t have the heart to suggest he turn to crime. He did his best to keep Inventor’s spirits up, making sure to do the chores for him on days when he’d worked really hard and complimenting him on his admittedly adorable uniform.

      “Y' workin' today?” Solicitor asked, straightening his tie.

      Inventor was in the bathroom, drying his hair on a towel. “Mmhmm.”

      “How many hours?”

      “A—a double shift,” Inventor replied. “Can you b-bring me my uniform?”

      Solicitor banged around Inventor's drawers, pulling out a few items of clothing and bringing them to the bathroom. He handed them over and looked at Inventor.

      “What's this?” he asked, motioning at a big red mark on Inventor's arm.

      “Oh, ahh,” Inventor covered the mark with his hand. “N-nothing, just ahh, a customer s-spilled coffee on me.”

      “What, like on accident?”

      “Umm, y-yes, well,” Inventor pulled his pants on, fumbling with the button. “H-he. He said it was an accident. When I c-called my boss over.”

      “So 't was on purpose.”

      Inventor nodded, pulling his shirt on. “I c-can't... prove it.”

      Solicitor sighed harshly. “Inny, y' can't let 'em treat ya' this way.”

      “I—if I argue back, I'll l-lose my job,” Inventor said.

      Solicitor frowned at Inventor, who was struggling to put his shirt's buttons in the correct holes, and took over buttoning his shirt for him. “So what? There's other jobs.”

      “I d-don't want to risk it,” Inventor said. “It w-was hard enough to find this one.”

      “Y' shouldn't hafta worry 'bout that,” Solicitor said, helping Inventor into his vest. “You're th' best shadow mage I've ever met, 't hurts me t' see ya' languishin' away in such a lameass job.”

      “Unfortunately, there isn't much demand for shadow mages.” Inventor gave Solicitor a kiss on his head. “Are you going out?”

      Solicitor nodded. “Yeah. Gotta go make rent, right?”

      Inventor smiled, and Solicitor could see the worry in his eyes. “Well, t-take care, all right?”

      “'f course.”

      Inventor walked to the door and put his shoes on. He waved goodbye and left the apartment. Solicitor flopped onto the bed for a bit before rolling off again, putting his socks and shoes on, and leaving the apartment as well.

      Pickpocketing was a skill he learned young. His father was always stingy with his money, using it as a reward for when Solicitor was behaving the way his father felt he should, and withholding it when he wasn't. By Solicitor's teen years, when his magic really started presenting itself and his skin went grey, his funds dried up. Derse's capital city was full of rich motherfuckers though, ones with nice full wallets just begging to be taken.

      The wallets in this city weren't quite as full as Solicitor was used to, and this month especially he hadn't been making as much as he'd like from his usual pickpocketing and conning. With Inventor at work for a good twelve hours, he figured it was as good a time as any to try a better neighborhood. He hopped on the train—jumping over the turnstile when no one was looking—and rode it down a few stops, to the downtown district. He didn’t start plucking wallets straight away. He hung back, watching people pass, paying attention to how they carried themselves and where they were likely to keep their money. After enough observation, he made his move, harmlessly brushing up next to people and pilfering their wallets without the slightest notice.

      Why did anyone bother to work when crime was so much easier?

      He’d made enough money for the day and was contemplating whether to go for broke or call it quits when a large, short man lumbered up to him.

      “What can I do for ya’, pops?” Solicitor asked, grinning.

      The stranger scowled up at him. Solicitor hid his hands in his pockets.

      “Y’ think you’re bein’ real slick, don’tcha, kid?” the man said.

      “Slick? No, that ain’t me,” Solicitor replied, chuckling. “Probably th’ least slick fella there is.”

      “Damn right,” the stranger said. He jabbed Solicitor in the side with a meaty finger. “I seen whatcha been doin’, kid.”

      “I promise I ain’t got a clue whatcher talkin’ about.”

      The man rolled his eyes, thoroughly unamused with Solicitor’s attempts to be coy. “Look, I ain’t the law. But this here’s Kingpin’s turf, an’ he don’ take kindly t’ petty thieves like you musclin’ in on his territory.”

      Solicitor whistled. “Kingpin? Whozzat? Sounds awful important.”

      The man huffed. “Don’ fuckin’ act like you don’ know who that is.”

      Solicitor shrugged. “‘fraid I don’t. ‘m new in town, fresh outta th’ sands. Be a doll ‘n clue me in.”

      The man grimaced.

      “C’mon,” Solicitor said. “I can’t very well respect this guy’s turf if I don’ know who ‘e is ‘n what all’s his turf, right?”

      The man sighed, then grabbed Solicitor by the arm and pulled him as he walked down the street. “Fine, but we ain’t talkin’ here. You’re buyin’ me a coffee.”

      The man--who introduced himself as Angry Delinquent--led Solicitor to a cafe. He ordered a downright enormous coffee for himself, and Solicitor ordered a more sane-sized one before paying and finding them a seat. Delinquent chugged down about half his coffee before he started speaking.

      “Long story short, kid: Kingpin runs this town.”

      “Sounds like he’s a big deal,” Solicitor said over his own coffee.

      “He ain’t exactly a forgivin’ guy,” Delinquent added. “He don’ like that street rat shit. Likes t’ keep up appearances, keep this town lookin’ like it’s cleaner’n it is.”

      Solicitor hummed, leaned back in his seat, then leaned forward again. “So Delly--y’mind if I call ya’ Delly?” Delinquent grunted in response, and Solicitor took that as a yes. “Y’ work for this Kingpin fella, right? I ain’t off base in assumin’ that?”

      “Y’ ain’t.”

      “Right, so, am I also right t’ assume y’ ain’t really th’ sorta guy they employ jus’ t’ hand out friendly warnin’s t’ punks like yours truly?”

      “‘m more there t’ punch punks’ faces in,” he said.

      Solicitor nodded and sipped his coffee. “So what’s gotcha feelin’ so charitable, Delly?”

      “Kid, you’re really pushin’ it.”

      “How’s about I buy ya’ another coffee?” Delinquent gave Solicitor a look. “Cake? Y’ gotta like cake, right? Ain’t nobody ever lived’t didn’t like cake.”

      Delinquent continued to give Solicitor a look, but nodded. Solicitor jumped up and ordered a slice of the most expensive cake they had, and handed it to the man.

      “Well?”

      Delinquent practically inhaled the cake. Solicitor wondered if the guy even tasted it. “Jus’ found out ‘m gonna be a father.”

      “Congratulations,” Solicitor said, leaning on the table. “Y’ gonna stay in th’ business?”

      “Course.” Delinquent nodded. “Gotta put food on th’ table.”

      Solicitor nodded in reply, a somewhat exaggerated gesture. “Good point, good point. Now, ‘m jus’ wonderin’ how I’m s’posed t’ put food on th’ table for me ‘n my li’l brother, y’know, seein’ ‘s how I can’t do what ‘m good at no more.”

      “Get a job,” Delinquent said before finishing off his coffee.

      “Easier said than done,” Solicitor said. “Lookit me, ‘m fuckin’ grey. Who wants t’ hire a fella who can summon fire with his mind, huh?”

      Delinquent thought about that.

      Solicitor kept pushing it. “I mean, ‘m great in a fight ‘n real good’t destroyin’ shit, not t’ mention I got loads o’ charisma, but really, that ain’t gonna help me get some cashier job, izzit? Not when they think ‘m gonna set th’ store aflame on m’ first bad day.”

      Delinquent continued to consider that. “‘n y’ said y’ had a brother t’ look after?”

      Solicitor nodded. “Poor fella. Real sickly, stuck in some shitty job. If it wasn’t for me he’d be sleepin’ in th’ gutter.”

      Delinquent thought for a little longer, then dropped his shoulders, defeated. He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a small address book. He handed it to Solicitor.

      “Lemmie know how t’ contact ya’. I’ll put a word in.”

      Solicitor grinned and scribbled down his phone number. He handed the book back and stood up. Delinquent stood as well, and they made their way outside.

      “Y’know,” Delinquent said. “Funniest thing, but I swear I seen ya’ b’fore.”

      “That so?” Solicitor put his hands in his jacket pockets, still smiling. “Tell me, whad’ja used t’ do, ‘fore exile?”

      “Castle guard,” Delinquent said. “Derse, obviously.”

      Solicitor considered his options. It was in his best interest to simply assure Delinquent that he was in infantry, that they never could have met. That would have been the smart thing to do, but Solicitor was giddy from the money he’d made and the prospects ahead of him and he couldn’t help himself.

      “Y’ ever get a look at th’ nobles?”

      “Here’n there,” Delinquent said. “Not a lot, mostly jus’ th’--”

      Delinquent stopped. His jaw dropped, and he pointed at Solicitor.

      “You--’t was you!”

      Solicitor laughed and put an arm around Delinquent’s shoulders, hunching down to do so. “Th’ name’s Perky Soldier now. Keep t’ that. ‘nless, ‘f course, your boss’s a fan ‘f my work.”

      “He sure ‘s shit ain’t!”

      “‘n what about you, Delly? You a fan?”

      Delinquent pushed Solicitor off of him, giving him a good long glare.

      “Can’t say I was a fan ‘f th’ royals,” he said. “So I ain’t gonna give ya’ shit, y’ li’l fuckin’ traitor. But don’ go lettin’ no one else find out who y’ are.”

      “Duly noted.” Solicitor gave Delinquent a pat on the back. “Thanks f’r ev’rythin’, Delly. Stay in touch, y’hear?”

      “Yeah, yeah.”

      Delinquent left, lumbering down the street. Solicitor made his way in the other direction, smiling at everyone who gave him a glance. He popped into a store and bought himself a new set of clothes, crossed the street to buy Inventor a box of chocolates, stole one more wallet and caught the train back home.

      Solicitor was trying to fix the picture on the television when Inventor came home. That is to say, he was smacking the side of the TV repeatedly while yelling at it to work.

      “How was your day, darlin’?”

      Inventor threw himself on the bed. “Kill me.”

      Solicitor gave Inventor’s head a pat. “I gotcha a burger ‘n some chocolate.”

      Inventor held his hands out, making a grabbing motion. Solicitor retrieved the food from the kitchen and handed it to him. Inventor smacked the burger aside and took the chocolate.

      “C’mon, man, y’ can’t jus’ live on chocolate,” Solicitor said, unwrapping the burger.

      “You’re right.” Inventor popped a chocolate into his mouth, then got up and went to the kitchen. He put the kettle on.

      Solicitor groaned and followed him. “Tea ain’t food!”

      “Close enough,” Inventor said. He spooned some tea leaves into an infuser, then looked at Solicitor. “Wh--what are the chocolates for?”

      “I was in a good mood,” Solicitor replied. He shoved the burger at Inventor. “C’mon, take a bite.”

      “I--I ate at work.”

      “You’re lyin’.”

      Inventor frowned, and the kettle whistled. He poured water into his mug. Solicitor jabbed him in the face with the burger.

      “Eeeeeat.”

      Inventor rolled his eyes and took the burger. He took a tiny bite, then handed the burger back to Solicitor. He dropped his infuser into his mug.

      Solicitor shrugged, giving up, and started eating the burger.

      “Wh-what got you in such a good mood?” Inventor asked.

      Solicitor shrugged. “Had a good day. Made rent.”

      “Poker?”

      “Mmhmm,” Solicitor said though a mouthful of food.

      Inventor frowned and crossed his arms.

      Sol crumpled up the burger wrapper. “What?”

      “Sol, I f-found wallets in your drawer.”

      “Why were ya’ goin’ through my drawer?”

      “Sol.”

      Solicitor tossed the wrapper in the trash can. “Maybe I won a buncha wallets in a game.”

      Inventor took the infuser out of his tea. “With all of the cards in them?”

      “Sure.”

      Inventor sipped his tea. Solicitor growled and dropped a wallet on the table.

      “Fine, okay, y’ got me. I been stealin’. Y’ happy?”

      “I’m not happy.” Inventor pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m c-concerned.”

      “Aww, don’ say that,” Solicitor said. “Jus’ yell at me ‘r somethin’.”

      Inventor sipped his tea and didn’t say anything. Solicitor ran a hand through his hair, sighing.

      “‘s fine, Inny. I ain’t gonna keep pickpocketin’.”

      Solicitor might have added that the reason for that had everything to do with a bigger criminal telling him to stop, and nothing to do with Inventor’s concerns, but that wasn’t important.

      “‘n fact, I applied for a job t’day,” he added.

      Inventor clearly wasn’t expecting that, and Solicitor grinned like a smug bastard.

      “Th--that’s good,” Inventor said. “I hope you get it.”

      “I hope so too.” Solicitor ruffled Inventor’s hair. “Now get your ass outta that uniform so’s I can do th’ laundry.”

      Inventor gave Solicitor a small smile, then got up and stripped down to his boxers. Solicitor took his clothes, collected the rest of the laundry and left, going downstairs to the building’s laundromat.

      Two days later, Solicitor received a phone call. He scrambled to answer it before Inny could. Delinquent was on the line, and he told Solicitor that he had the job. He was the latest member of Kingpin’s mob.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three.

      Harmonious Doll had big plans. Most people, after making their way to Metropolis Central, were content to eke out a modest living, just grateful to be out of the sand. Not Doll. She didn’t fight her way across the battlefield, then drag her ass across the desert just to die in obscurity.

      She was going to be a star.

      She had talent, she knew that. She also knew she was the sexiest damn woman in this city. She just had to convince everyone else of the same.

      She started her day the same as any, with a long shower followed by well over an hour of doing her hair and makeup. Once she looked flawless, she strode out of her apartment and headed down to her favorite cafe to meet Nimble Bookworm for breakfast. Doll first met Bookworm in the desert while she was fleeing a herd of crazed hoofbeasts. They slaughtered the herd together and stuck together ever since. They didn’t spend every waking moment together anymore--they were two separate people, after all--but they made sure to share breakfast every day.

      Doll gave Bookworm a kiss on the cheek before sitting at their usual table. She motioned at the waiter to bring her her usual.

      “Mornin’, baby,” Doll said.

      Bookworm smiled over her tea. “It’s noon, sweetie.”

      “Close enough.” Doll yawned. “Y’ been waitin’ long?”

      “About an hour,” Bookworm said. “It gave me time to catch up on my reading.”

      Doll looked at the books on the table, and picked one up. She flipped to a random page and skimmed it. It looked dense and artsy, not the sort of thing she enjoyed at all.

      “Give me a trashy romance novel any day,” she said, putting it back and picking up another one.

      “I’m afraid they don’t teach trashy romance at the university level, dear.”

      “They oughtta. You could teach it. That’ll be your first class.” Doll cracked open the second book and started reading.

      “Oh yes,” Bookworm said. “I’ll write my dissertation on the existentialist themes in _Dicks in a Rose_.”

       “Perfect. I approve.” Doll tossed the book back onto the pile.

      The waiter arrived, handing Doll a coffee and a muffin. Doll gave him a smile and a wink before he left to see to another customer.

      “So how’re th’ studies goin’?” Doll asked, breaking off a piece of muffin.

      “Well enough.” Bookworm shrugged and drank more tea.

      “Dunno why y’ don’ just pork th’ professors so they all give ya’ ‘n A.”

      Bookworm smiled. “I do that for money, dear. Not grades.”

      Bookworm finished her tea and ordered another one.

      “Please tell me ya’ got some juicy stories for me t’day,” Doll said, leaning forward. “Th’ nastier th’ better.”

      Bookworm stirred some milk into her tea. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.”

      “C’mon, tell me.”

      “It would be rude to tell,” she insisted.

      “Ain’t nobody’s gonna know.”

      Bookworm let out a coy giggle, then leaned back in her seat. “All right, as long as you don’t repeat it to anyone.”

      Doll grinned and chewed on a piece of muffin.

      “Last night, I had this customer. Normal-looking fellow, you know, suit and tie and everything.” Doll paused a moment to take a long sip of tea. “He takes me to a hotel--a proper hotel, not the usual roach motel. Very nice. He pays me and I ask what he wants.”

      “And?” Doll asked, resting her head on her hand. “What’d he want?”

      Bookworm brushed some hair behind her ear, smirking as though trying not to laugh. “He asked me to strip down to my underwear, and then eat macaroni and cheese.”

      Doll blinked a few times. “What?”

      “While he watched.”

      “What?”

      Bookworm shrugged.

      Doll threw a piece of muffin at Bookworm’s face. “Y’ killed my ladyboner, ya’ bitch.”

      “Oh dear.” The muffin piece bounced off her face and landed in her cleavage. She picked it out and popped it in her mouth. “I’m sure I can rectify that for you.”

      “‘s too late, ‘s gone.” Doll finished her coffee. “‘m shut down for th’ rest ‘f the day, ‘n it’s all your fault.”

      “I’m terribly sorry.” Bookworm did not look sorry at all. “Do you have any interesting stories for me?”

      Doll scoffed. “Nope. ‘nless y’ think dumbass gangbangers throwin’ each other ont’ th’ craps tables is interestin’.”

      “Sounds routine.”

      “‘t is.” Doll crossed her arms and huffed. “‘m fuckin’ sick ‘f it. Can’t they act civilized like th’ rest ‘f us?”

      “They own the casino,” Bookworm said. “I suppose they can act however they’d like.”

      “They own the whole damn town.” Doll was pouting now, and she didn’t care what it looked like.

      “I know, dear.” Bookworm reached over and put a hand on Doll’s shoulder. “Do you work tonight?”

      Doll nodded. “Last day for this week, thank god.”

      “That’s good.” Bookworm gave Doll a pap on the cheek, then resumed drinking her tea. “You ought to take a break for a few days. Catch up on sleep.”

      “Can’t. Gotta keep lookin’ for gigs.”

      Bookworm sighed. “Of course.”

      “‘n fact.” Doll stood up and shoved the remaining piece of muffin in her mouth. “I gotta see a guy ‘bout one ‘fore I go in t’ work.”

      “Knock him dead, dear.”

      Doll grinned, muffin in her teeth, and gave a thumbs up. “You know it.”

      Doll left the cafe. It occurred to her about two blocks later that it was actually her turn to pay for breakfast, and she felt a little bad for leaving Bookworm with the bill. She made a mental note to buy her dinner sometime.

      The place she was going was a few blocks away from downtown. She hopped on the train and rode it for about two stops. Her destination was a nightclub just outside the train station. At night, this place was always packed full of people. There were bright neon lights that drew the eye from blocks away, and music wafted out the door and out onto the street. During the day, it was silent, empty, and dull. She stepped up to the door and knocked, putting on her brightest smile.

      The door opened. The man on the other side was someone Doll had met before, an aging man who insisted on dressing like a young raver. He was, admittedly, pathetic as hell, but his club was popular and a successful gig here would surely get Doll bookings elsewhere in town. He looked her over, and she could tell he didn’t recognize her.

      “Yeah? Who’re you?”

      “Harmonious Doll,” she said, her voice sickeningly sweet. “We spoke last night, remember? At the casino?”

      He furrowed his brow in thought, before remembering. “Oh! Right. The singer, yeah?”

      She nodded. “You told me you needed someone to perform this weekend?”

      “Yeah, about that.” Doll struggled not to lose her smile, but she knew that tone. “One of my usuals called me up to tell me she was available, so I won’t be needing anyone new.”

      “You’re sure about that?” she said, adjusting her posture, trying to bring attention to all her womanly features. She wasn’t afraid to use her sex appeal to get what she wanted. On the Battlefield, she was always taught to use every weapon at her disposal. “You don’t want to shake things up, try somethin’ new?”

      “Sorry, toots,” he said, his eyes resting firmly on her chest. “You’re gorgeous ‘n all, but I ain’t gonna tell my most popular act t’ stay home jus’ so I can put some nobody on stage.”

      “I ain’t some nobody,” she said. “I’m--”

      “You’re a nobody,” he said again, and then he slammed the door in her face.

      She stood there for a moment, letting shock quickly boil away into rage, before kicking the door and stomping off. She couldn’t help but grumble to herself as she crossed the street. She descended the stairs down to the train station, where some young hipster was sitting and tuning his guitar. He whistled at her as she walked and she stopped, turning to face him with death in her eyes.

      “Hey sweetheart,” he said. “You’d be way prettier if you smiled.”

      She let out an enraged screech, then whirled around and pelted the guy in the face with her purse. Then she walked away, her heels clicking on the concrete floor, and disappeared into the crowds getting on their trains.

      She arrived at work early, which she didn’t mean to do. She sat outside the casino for a while, smoking a cigarette and hating herself for the fact that she hadn’t quit yet. At this rate, she’d lose her voice to her nicotine addiction before she could make a name for herself. Once she was done with her cigarette she headed inside and changed into her uniform. It was a skimpy thing, which was expected of a place like this, with a low neckline and a short skirt.

      It suited her just fine. All she had to do was bend over the right way and she raked in all the tips she could need.

      She was a cigarette girl, which if anyone asked was the reason why she couldn’t quit smoking. She was there to not only provide the casino’s clientele with cigarettes, cigars and the occasional drink, but also to look pretty and offer companionship to said clientele.

      The casino had a stage, and it irked her to no end that it hadn’t been used for performances since shortly before she started working there. Getting a gig on that stage wouldn’t be hard. She already worked here, after all, and she was sure her stingy bosses would rather hire from within their workforce rather than pay someone new. She could not, however, convince anyone that it would be worth the trouble to set up some shows. There was no money in it, they said. No one came here to be sang to.

      No, they all came to drink and gamble and talk business. Goddamn mobsters. Doll was so sick of them, but there was no point in leaving her job to avoid them. They were everywhere. They ran this town. Hell, even Bookworm had no choice but to pay them a cut of her profits.

      Kingpin had his hands in everything.

      She tried to put that all out of her mind as she worked. She had to be cheerful, after all, and gorgeous and vapid. It’s what they paid her for. She walked the casino floor, all decorated in warm colors, red and gold and rich-looking wood. All of it was fake, just paint and paneling, a low-class establishment trying its damnedest to look refined.

      She caught sight of a regular customer. Well, at least she knew she’d make plenty of tips today. She walked over to the poker table where he and several others were sitting. She bent down to greet him, putting a hand on his shoulders.

      “Cigar, darlin’?”

      Angry Delinquent smiled up at her, his grin lighting up his fat face. “You know it, Doll.”

      She produced a cigar from her tray and handed it to him. He handed her a bill and told her to keep the change. She looked up at Delinquent’s friends and several of them ordered something, too.

      She noticed a fresh face. A younger guy, leaner, definitely not the hardened criminal type like these others. He was preoccupied with chatting up the dealer. He was also grey-skinned, which was surprising, because Doll thought all the shadow mages had died.

      She sidled up beside him and put a hand on his back.

      “Cigarette?” she asked, because he didn’t strike her as the cigar type.

      He looked up at her and smiled. She tried not to be taken aback, but she’d never seen someone with such a dazzling smile. It occurred to her that he probably had a high Pulchritude stat. That’s just cheating.

      “‘f course, thank ya’ kindly.”

      She handed him a pack of cigarettes and he handed her some cash. She offered him a light, but he didn’t need it. He lit his cigarette with a small purple flame, conjured from his fingertip.

      “So what’s your name, firestarter?”

      He took a long drag. “They call me Perky Soldier, but y’ can call me whatever y’ wanna.”

      “How ‘bout cheeseball, can I call ya’ that?”

      “If it keeps that gorgeous smile on your face, sure thing.” He was really laying the Pulchritude on thick, and she had to keep reminding herself of that to keep herself from falling for it. “What’s your name then, hmm?”

      “Harmonious Doll,” she said, lighting one of the other mens’ cigars.

      “Oh? Name like that, I hope you’ve got a good voice.”

      “I do.”

      “Don’t s’pose y’d let me hear it.”

      She smiled. Then yelped, because Delinquent reached over and pinched her ass.

      “How’s about some drinks, huh Doll?”

      She smacked the side of his head, not losing her playful demeanor. “Delly, you’re about t’ be a father, how’s about ya’ start actin’ more mature, huh?”

      “Kid ain’t here yet,” Delinquent said, chuckling. “Gotta get all th’ immaturity outta my system now, right?”

      Doll huffed and smacked him again. He laughed. She straightened out her skirt. “One round o’ drinks, comin’ right up. I expect ya’ t’ make it up t’ me for bein’ so rude, y’hear?”

      “O’ course, Doll, o’ course.” He laughed again, then put his cards on the table. “Full house, assholes.”

      Doll sauntered off. She popped by the bar to grab gin and tonics for the group. She assumed the new guy would want to have whatever the others were. She exchanged friendly words with the bartender before heading back to the poker table. When she got back the group had switched seats a bit, and Delinquent was leaning in to whisper conspiratorially to Soldier. Except that Delinquent was shit at being quiet, and Doll could hear him from across the aisle.

      “You’re wastin’ your time,” he said, patting Soldier’s back. “Y’ might manage a one night stand, if you’re very, very lucky. But Doll ain’t th’ datin’ type.”

      Doll put a drink in front of Delinquent’s face. “I ain’t what, darlin’?”

      “Jus’ tellin’ the kid t’ leave ya’ alone,” he said, taking the drink.

      Doll distributed the rest of the drinks to everyone, giving Soldier his last. “I can handle that by my lonesome, but thank ya’ all th’ same for the concern.”

      “Anytime.” He handed her another bill, this one larger, to pay for the drinks. She gave him a kiss on the cheek.

      “I gotta see to some other customers,” she said. “But you holler if ya’ need anythin’.”

      She left the table. She wasn’t surprised when Soldier leapt to his feet and followed after her. She ignored him for a moment, until she passed by a few rows of slot machines and turned around.

      “Do y’ need anythin’?”

      “Your phone number,” he said, still grinning, still barraging her with pulchritude.

      “Nice try,” she said, papping his cheek. A look of confusion crossed his features. He probably wasn’t used to people being able to resist him. She chuckled. “Tell me, you with them?”

      “What, Delly ‘n them? Yeah.”

      “So you’re part ‘f their li’l organization,” she said.

      He nodded. “Since a few weeks ago.”

      She gave him a thin smile, not bothering to hide her contempt. “I don’t date mobsters, thanks.”

      She turned and walked away. He ran after her.

      “Hey, I ain’t like them,” he said. “I ain’t no scumbag ‘r cheater, ‘m jus’ tryin’a make a livin’, y’know?”

      She stopped again. “Not a scumbag, huh? I call bullshit.”

      “I ain’t, I--”

      “Then what’s your name, hmm?”  


      “I toldja, it’s--”

      “Your name ain’t Soldier,” she said. “I was a soldier. I been on th’ Battlefield, I know what a soldier looks like. You ain’t no soldier.”

      He frowned. “I got my reasons.”

      “I’m sure.” She crossed her arms. “Y’know what? Here, turn off th’ pulchritude.”

      He didn’t do anything. He seemed hesitant.

      “Y’want any chance ‘t all? Lemmie see ya’ without you tryin’a cloud my vision.”

      His shoulders sagged, and the glamor switched off. He remained just as attractive--that wasn’t a lie, at least. He lost the suave demeanor, though, and it was replaced by something else. She couldn’t place it exactly. His eyes were sad, or angry, or maybe desperate. He still didn’t look like someone who had seen the Battlefield, but she got the distinct feeling that he had been through something else that was just as terrible.

      “What’s your name really?” she asked.

      “Perspicacious Solicitor.”

      He didn’t look like he was lying. Still, she replied, “Bullshit.”

      “Think I’d lie about that?” he said. “Pretty sure ain’t nobody wants t’ be me.”

      She found herself glancing around, worried someone might have heard him. Nobody seemed to have noticed, though, over the ambient sound of slot machines and conversations. “Shit, no wonder your charisma’s off th’ fuckin’ charts.”

      “Yours ain’t bad neither, darlin’,” he said, smiling.

      She smirked. “Pray I ain’t never gotta show ya’ my vim stat.”

      “Oh, baby.”

      She snickered despite herself and gave him a shove. “Y’know what, ‘m feelin’ generous.” She pulled out her phone and handed it to him. “Punch in your number. Maybe if I start feelin’ desperate I might give ya’ a call.”

      He typed in his number, then handed the phone back. She tucked it back into her pocket, then gave his head a pat. “Now go run back to your buddies. ‘ll be back once they finish up those cigars.”

      He took her hand, gave it a kiss and scurried back to his group. She turned and walked away, laughing to herself at what a cheeseball he was. She went back to doing her rounds, occasionally stopping by Solicitor and Delinquent’s table, being polite but distant each time. On her break, she stepped outside and dialed up Bookworm’s number.

      “Bookworm, holy shit, I gotta tell ya.”

      “Dear, I’m a little busy.” Doll could hear a male voice say something on the other end of the line, but she couldn’t make it out.

      “Real quick, real quick.”

      Bookworm sighed. “All right. Quickly.”

      “I had a new customer t’day, right? Got real friendly, like. Guess who ‘t was.”

      “Who?”

      Doll caught herself looking around again, although there was never anyone out in the back near the dumpsters at this time. “Th’ archagent.”

      There was a long pause before Bookworm said, “No.”

      “Yes!” Doll giggled. “Oh m’ god, Bookworm, I got ‘is number.”

      “You’re kidding.”

      “I’ll show ya’ once ‘m off work, ‘m serious!” Doll laughed. “Aw man, I thought for sure th’ Archagent had t’ have been like, some real sinister lookin’ fucker.”

      “Mmhmm. Some sort of lanky fellow, pointy chin, curly moustache?”

      “Right?! He don’ look a thing like that, darlin’. He’s hot. ‘n also sort’f a loser.”

      “Are you going to call him?”

      “I dunno yet,” she said. “‘m too busy laughin’ at th’ whole situation.”

      “Okay, well. Don’t call him without me, all right?”

      “Sure thing. You get back t’ work now, arrite?”

      Bookworm told her good night, and hung up. Doll was in a good enough mood that she did not feel compelled to have another cigarette that night.

      She did not call him at first. She took a day off, and ended up not looking for gigs like she’d planned. She had her breakfast with Bookworm, telling her friend about her encounter with the Archagent, and then went back home and flopped back into bed. The next day at breakfast, Bookworm convinced her to give Solicitor a call, mostly out of curiosity. She left her phone on speaker so Bookworm could listen in. She didn’t set up a date or anything. They chatted a little bit, then she told him she had to go and she’d call back later. She hung up and she and Bookworm giggled for ages.

      The next day she called him again, and that time she let him talk her into a date. He met her outside the casino--she wasn’t going to let him know where she lived just yet--and took her to a restaurant nearby. He was very pleasant, much nicer than she would expect her queen’s assassin to be. After that, he led her to an old building with bad security. They snuck in, climbed up to the roof and stood on the edge, watching the city. She had to admit, it was a pretty good date.

      “I wanna own all this someday,” he said, nodding at the view.

      “What, th’ city?”

      He nodded. “‘sa li’l frustratin’ that someone beat me to th’ punch already, but I think I can pull ‘t off.”

      She snickered. “‘m sure your boss wouldn’t appreciate that sorta talk.”

      He smiled. “Pfft. Guy’s an asshole. Like I give a shit.”

      “Guess you’ve got experience overthrowin’ tyrants,” she said.

      “I do,” he said, although he sounded more wistful than boastful. He held an arm out, and she took the invitation and leaned against him. He wrapped his arm around her. “When I make ‘t big, I’ll give ya’ whatever y’ want.”

      “I wanna sing in all the classiest joints in this town,” she told him. “I wanna be a star.”

      “Done ‘n done.”

      She jabbed him in the side. “You’re assumin’ you’re gonna make it big ‘fore I do.”

      “How’s about we make a pact, then,” he said. “Whichever ‘f us hits th’ big time first has t’ fund th’ other’s rise t’ glory.”

      She jabbed him again. “So you’re sayin’ I’m gonna end up supportin’ ya’? No thanks.”

      He laughed. She decided that she liked his laugh. She liked a lot about him, despite his being a scumbag mobster, and she decided that there wasn’t any harm in sticking with him a little longer. She wouldn’t call it love. She wouldn’t even call it infatuation. She just wanted to see where he’d end up.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four.

      Inventor was never welcome in his own home growing up. His parents were disappointed that they’d ended up with a shadow mage instead of a normal kid, so they tended to ignore and neglect him. He spent more time sleeping in the park than in his own bed. His only friend was the therapist he was assigned, to make sure he wasn’t going to go crazy. Once the war started he was shipped off to the cloning labs, growing more soldiers to support the war effort. When he was exiled he resigned himself to dying in the desert, but Solicitor found him and refused to let him die.

      Inventor was grateful. Mostly.

      He got his job about a week after they arrived in the city. He couldn’t say he liked being a waiter, nor was he very good at it. Getting good tips involved being good with people, which he never was. His customers were consistently rude and occasionally were downright malicious. The only thing that kept him from going off the deep end was the fact that he was able to spend his breaks with a family of cats that lived in the alley behind the diner.

      The mother cat was wary of him, as most feral cats were, but the kittens were used to him. They were old enough to walk around now, energetic and curious, and they’d climb all over him while he sat on the asphalt and gave them scraps from the kitchen. He wished he could take them home with him, but Solicitor had some sort of cat phobia and wouldn’t allow it.

      He came in from his break to find his boss waiting at the door. She looked him over, then started aggressively patting the fur off his uniform.

      “Goddammit, Inventor,” she said. “This’s a restaurant, you can’t just go getting yourself covered in fur in between customers.”

      “S--sorry,” he said, hoping she’d stop invading his space.

      “Who knows what kinda diseases those cats have?”

      “They umm, they don’t have diseases.”

      “Says you,” she said. She shoved him towards the sink. “Wash up and get back to work, and don’t you dare get fur in any food.”

      It was a bad day. They were packed, and his replacement for the next shift came in an hour late, which meant that he was stuck working after he was supposed to clock out. Once he finally got out, he stopped by the alley one more time to leave more food for the cats, then stumbled home.

      Solicitor was sitting at the kitchen table with that new girlfriend of his. He walked past them and flopped into the bed. Solicitor got up and stood in the doorway.

      “I saved some dinner for ya’,” he said.

      Inventor grumbled into the pillows.

      “C’mon, Inny, please eat?”

      Doll joined Solicitor in the doorway, looking at Inventor with worry. “Is somethin’ wrong?”

      Solicitor shook his head. “He’s always like this. Ain’t never wants t’ eat.”

      She walked over and sat on the bed next to Inventor. She pet his hair. “Sweetie, can’tcha eat jus’ a li’l bit?”

      He rolled over and pouted at her.

      “Y’ ain’t gotta eat th’ whole thing,” she insisted.

      “C-can I have a drink if I do?”

      She looked at Solicitor. He shrugged. “‘s th’ last ‘f th’ vodka, man.”

      “Yes,” she said to Inventor.

      He rolled out of bed and allowed Doll to lead him to the kitchen. He sat down while she heated up a plate of beans and rice. Solicitor sat down next to him.

      “Umm,” Inventor said, awkwardly glancing back and forth between Solicitor and Doll. “H-how did, ah. How did you meet?”

      “Met ‘er at work,” Solicitor said. She put the plate in front of Inventor, and Solicitor slapped her butt. She punched his arm.

      “At work,” Inventor said, staring at the food.

      “‘s what I said, yeah,” Solicitor replied.

      Doll grabbed the fork and held a forkful of food out to him. “Say ahh, dear.”

      Inventor gave her an exasperated look. He knew how to eat, he didn’t need to be fed like a child. She poked him in the mouth with the fork. He opened his mouth and let her feed him.

      “Wh-where are you w-working now?” he asked once he’d swallowed the mouthful of food.

      “Th’ casino,” Solicitor said.

      “Th-the casino?”

      Solicitor nodded. “Yep, ‘m a dealer. I spent so much time playin’ there that they offered me a job.”

      Inventor took the fork from Doll and poked at the rice. “S-Sol, w-we already established that your gambling was a lie.”

      “‘t ain’t completely. I do gamble.”

      “He does,” Doll said. “I work at th’ casino, we did meet there.”

      Inventor took a small bite of rice, then pushed the plate away. Doll pushed it back. He sighed. “Sol, where are you working?”

      “Doezzit matter?” Solicitor asked. “‘m payin’ th’ bills, ain’t I?”

      “You are,” Inventor said. He moved the food around on the plate, hoping Doll would give up on him eating soon. “But I’m c-concerned that the police are going to show up eventually.”

      “Y’ ain’t gotta worry,” Solicitor said.

      “Now, hold on,” Doll said, shoving Solicitor. “Don’ lie to the guy.”

      “What?” Solicitor shoved her back, but not as hard. “I said he ain’t gotta worry, ‘n he ain’t.”

      Doll looked at Inventor and smiled. “Eat your food ‘n I’ll tell ya’ what your brother’s been up t’.”

      Inventor shoveled the food into his mouth.

      “Baby, c’mon, don’ tell ‘im,” Solicitor pleaded.

      “Th’ poor kid lives with ya’, he d’serves t’ know,” she said. “Don’ be a douchebag.”

      Solicitor crossed his arms and pouted, but made no effort to stop Doll from talking. Doll put a hand on Inventor’s shoulder and said, “Inny, Sol’s workin’ for th’ mob.”

      Inventor choked on his food. He flailed a hand, and Solicitor helpfully grabbed the bottle of vodka and handed it over. Inventor chugged it down, then said, “You’re w-w-w-working for, for Kingpin?!”

      “‘m honestly surprised y’ know that name,” Solicitor said.

      “I d-don’t live under a rock, Sol.”

      “Whatever, ‘t don’ matter who my boss is,” he said. “Point is, I got regular work, it pays well, ‘n I’m happy.”

      Inventor slammed the bottle on the table. “You’re doing crime!”

      “Yeah, but it ain’t like ‘m pickin’ pockets,” Solicitor said. He took Inventor’s plate and put it in the sink. “I ain’t about t’ get picked up by th’ cops, ‘cause Kingpin’s got th’ Fuzz in his pocket. Everythin’s safe.”

      “Until they d-decide to use you as a patsy,” Inventor said.

      “‘s what I told ‘im,” Doll said.

      “They ain’t gonna do that,” Solicitor insisted, running water over the plate. “I’m th’ only shadow mage they got. They need me!”

      “Oh god,” Inventor said, putting his head in his hands. “They’re, they’re m-making you burn people, aren’t you?”

      “What?” Solicitor stopped the water. “No! ‘f course not.”

      “A--and here I’ve been teaching you how to use your powers…”

      “Inny, I ain’t been burnin’ people,” Solicitor said. “I jus’ intimidate people ‘s all, maybe hold ‘em down, freak ‘em out so they fork over th’ cash they owe us. Nothin’ crazy.”

      Inventor didn’t believe him. There was no reason why he should, all things considered. He put his head down on the table, and Doll hugged and shooshed him.

      “Dear, Sol ain’t been on their payroll long enough t’ be trusted with all that violent shit,” Doll said. “They don’t know yet he ain’t gonna flip his shit ‘n go to th’ Fuzz.”

      “That isn’t a c-comfort.” Inventor said into the table.

      “‘m jus’ doin’ what I gotta t’ get by,” Solicitor said, turning the water back on. “Anyone who wants t’ get anywhere in this town’s gotta get in with Kingpin. That’s jus’ how it is.”

      Inventor looked up slowly, training his eyes on Solicitor as he finished washing the plate and put it away. “And wh-where do you want to go, Sol?”

      “Straight to th’ top,” Solicitor replied, hopping up onto the counter. “I toldja once b’fore, Inny. I want this city. ‘m gonna make ‘t mine.”

      Inventor stood up and left the apartment, ignoring Solicitor’s protests.

      Like any time he went outside, he immediately regretted it. It was about eight o’clock, and the streets were full of people walking home from work, going to dinner, or heading out for a night on the town. He didn’t want to be out in public, especially after he’d had such a bad day at work, but he wanted to be home even less. Not for the first time, he thought about how nice it would be if he lived away from Solicitor, or at least in an apartment that had some iota of privacy.

      There was a liquor store down the street, next to the grocery store. Inventor stepped inside and picked out a bottle of whiskey, paying for it with his tips for the day. He knew Solicitor would prefer he used that money on food, but Inventor didn’t give a shit. Once he had his whiskey in hand he wandered back out onto the street. He stood for a long while, not sure where to go.

      Not home. Definitely not home. He didn’t want to see Solicitor right now. He picked a direction and started walking.

      In the desert, he never had to worry about what sort of person Solicitor was. Not like this, anyway. When he was wandering the wilderness, the only thing he had to worry about was whether Solicitor was going to kill him for his supplies, of which he had none. Since Solicitor went out of his way to save Inventor, at great risk to himself, Inventor never had anything to worry about. Solicitor wasn’t going to harm him, so he was good.

      Here in the city, there were a lot more factors in play, and Solicitor was quickly proving to be shady as shit. Inventor was pretty sure he hadn’t even tried to find gainful employment before he resorted to theft. Then he claimed to have a job and surprise surprise, that was crime too. He had every intention of keeping it secret. What if something had happened to him? What if he got killed, or arrested? How would Inventor ever know what happened, beyond the fact that he never came home one day?

      Inventor took a long swig of whiskey.

      He found himself outside the diner. He circled around on the far end of the sidewalk, hiding behind other people as best as he could, and slipped into the back alley. He took another drink, then sat down against the back wall. Within minutes, three kittens walked over and climbed onto his lap.

      He sat there for a good hour, drinking and petting the kittens, but he felt no more inclined to go home than when he first arrived. He considered spending the night in the alley. He was still in his uniform, so he wouldn’t need to go home to get dressed before work. He might look a little rumpled by the time his shift came around, but he didn’t suspect his boss would send him home. She bitched a lot about cat fur, but didn’t ever do anything about it.

      Someone appeared at the entrance to the alley and, to Inventor’s dismay, started walking towards him. He tried to ignore them, but a small female voice addressed him. “A--are you Inventor?”

      He frowned and stopped petting the cats.

      The woman walked closer. She looked uncomfortable being there, and she pulled at her hair a little. “I’m a friend of Doll’s. My name’s Bookworm. She, ahh, called and asked me to help look for you. She said you might be here?”

      Inventor made a mental note not to be so predictable in the future.

      She looked at the kittens, then sat down next to Inventor. “What are their names?”

      Inventor had not actually thought up names for them yet. He considered it for a moment. He pointed to one. “Teacup.” Then he pointed to another. “Butterscotch.” He pointed to the third. “Little Miss Moo Moo.”

      She smiled and reached out to pet them. The kittens were shy at first, but once she pet one, the others realized she wasn’t a threat and toddled over to her. She giggled as they climbed onto her lap. “They’re adorable,” she said. “Where’s their mother?”

      Inventor pointed to the dumpsters. “Sh-she ahh. D-doesn’t like people.”

      Bookworm nodded, scratching a kitten’s ears. “I don’t blame her.”

      Inventor sat there next to Bookworm, watching her play with the kittens, before he swallowed a lump in his throat and decided to attempt small talk. “S-so uh. What. What do you do?”

      “I’m a student,” she replied.

      “What do you s-study?”

      “Literature,” she said. One of the kittens became jealous of the attention its brother was getting, and flopped onto its back. She rubbed its tiny belly. “I’m hoping to become a professor someday.”

      Inventor thought that was a very nice goal, and envied her a little. He thought about what he should say to that, and settled on, “Oh.”

      “Do you read, Inventor?”

      He nodded.

      “Who’s your favorite author?”

      He picked up a kitten and pet it. “F-Flatfoot Scribe.”

      She made an impressed face and nodded. “Very good choice. Controversial, to be sure.”

      The two talked for a while about their favorite authors, about books they loved as kids that had been lost in the war, about academia, Bookworm’s problems with academia, and eventually about tea.

      For Inventor, everything led to tea eventually.

      He didn’t think twice about inviting her over to tea. She was the first engaging conversation he’d had in a long, long while, and he wanted to impress her. The best way he knew how to was to make her a perfect cup of tea. If she was telling the truth, Solicitor wouldn’t even be home now, since he apparently left to go look for Inventor.

      They made their way up the stairs to Inventor’s apartment. Indeed, Solicitor and Doll were out, and Inventor pulled out a seat at the kitchen table for his guest. He put the kettle on and picked out a blend of tea. He wished he could afford more high-quality leaves, but he made the best of what he had.

      They were on their second cups of tea when Solicitor and Doll came back. Inventor was still mad at Solicitor, but by then he was willing to be in the same room as him.

      “Inny!” Solicitor rushed over and gave Inventor a hug. “Y’ worried me.”

      Inventor swatted him away.

      Doll sat down next to Bookworm. She patted Bookworm’s arm. “Thanks for helpin’ us out, sweetie.”

      “It was no problem,” Bookworm replied. She took a sip of tea. “I got some wonderful conversation and delicious tea out of it.”

      Solicitor frowned at the fact that all of the chairs had butts in them. He leaned against the counter and looked Bookworm over. “Hey, I know you. Ain’t you one o’ Kingpin’s girls?”

      She frowned and snubbed her nose at him. “I am not. I’m self-employed. He just insists on cutting into my profits.”

      Inventor gave her a confused look.

      “Oh, I didn’t mention,” she said. “To help pay my tuition, I--”

      “She fucks guys for money,” Solicitor said. Doll threw a sugar cube at him. “What? I didn’t say ‘t was a bad thing!”

      Inventor looked to the side, scratching his head. “D--does it pay well?”

      “Well enough,” she said.

      Solicitor tossed the sugar cube back at Doll. “Y’ gotta have some sort of sexy stories, right? Y’ should tell us a sexy story.”

      Doll shook her head at him. Bookworm smiled and leaned her head on her hand.

      “I had a client about two weeks ago,” she said. “He was high as a kite by the time he picked me up. He got me to a motel, paid me upfront, and promptly passed out.”

      “Wh-what did you do?” Inventor asked.

      She shrugged. “Gave him a hickey and left. He hired me again a week later, thinking he had a good time. It ended the same way.”

      “Gosh,” Inventor said.

      “Now that,” Solicitor said, “‘s a smart lady.”

      Doll frowned at her friend, reaching for Inventor’s booze. Inventor batted her hand away. “Darlin’, do y’ actually have any sexy stories?”

      Bookworm drank her tea and did not answer the question.

      The four sat around for a while, chatting about this and that. Inventor was no less worried about Solicitor, but he decided to let the matter drop for now.

      He slept poorly that night, even by his standards. He was late for work that morning. He shuffled into the diner and rushed into the kitchen to clock in and feed the cats before his boss could start yelling at him.

      He grabbed a few scraps out of the fridge and opened the back door. He immediately regretted it. There was blood smeared on the alley walls, and the kittens were strewn along the ground, all of them dead and mangled. He dropped the scraps. His boss approached, and peeked outside from behind him.

      “Oh, damn,” she said. “Officer Itchy was tellin’ me about this.”

      “Wh--what?”

      “Some nutjob’s been going around killing animals in the area,” she said. “Like he ain’t got anything better to do.”

      “Oh god,” Inventor said.

      She gave him a slap on the back. “Sorry about your cats, buddy. Now help me take down the chairs.”

      She reached past him and closed the door. She walked out into the dining room. Inventor stood there for a few minutes, silently crying, before she called to him. He wiped his eyes and rushed to help.

      He did not put forth much effort at his job that day. He repeatedly asked to be sent home, but his boss couldn’t get any other waiters to come into replace him, so he was stuck there. His customers were not patient with his depressed mood. He put up with their complaints until about two thirty, at which point a customer would not shut up about how bad the coffee was, how it was burnt and too hot and how the place two blocks down had much better coffee. In fact, he said, he could brew a better cup in his sleep, with only shit-covered beans and an old sock. Inventor stood there with his pot of coffee, listening to the rant, and before he knew what he was doing, he dumped the pot of coffee onto the guy’s lap.

      Then he walked out.

      He didn’t go straight home. He wandered. He didn’t wonder what he’d tell Solicitor, although he probably should have. Instead he just cried to himself about his poor kittens. He’d only just named them, and now…

      A cat screamed. He stopped. It screamed again, and he tentatively walked in the direction of the noise. He walked deep into an alley, next to a factory, and there he found a man hunched over a cat, breaking its legs.

      Inventor thought about his kittens. He thought about their blood all over the alley, about their little paws bent in all the wrong directions. He balled his fists and yelled out at the person. The guy looked back at him, sneered, and said, “Fuck off, I’m busy.”

      He unclenched his fists. Purple fire sprung forth from his palms.

      While this man was content to let his feline victims scream, Inventor didn’t let him make a sound. He clamped a flaming hand over his mouth, and put another hand on his chest. Flames radiated out from his hands, and engulfed the man. He struggled and writhed, but Inventor did not let him go until he’d gone entirely still.

      He let the body fall to the ground. He looked at it as he caught his breath, and then he realized what he’d done.

      He ran.

      He was hysterical by the time he got home. He woke Solicitor and told him everything. Solicitor shooshed him and pet his hair, assuring him that it’d be okay, he’ll be okay, big brother Sol will take care of everything. He asked where Inventor left the body. Inventor told him.

      Solicitor kissed Inventor’s forehead, then got out of bed and made a phone call.

      Inventor did not go to jail for his crime. The body was disposed of. The burn marks were cleaned off of the alley floor. All evidence was destroyed.

      As a result, he owed the mob. They were quick to collect. He, like Solicitor, now worked for Kingpin.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five.

      Jovial Botanist ran a flower shop in one of the better parts of town. This was one of Kingpin’s favorite neighborhoods, so business owners had to pay a premium for Kingpin to allow them to operate. Botanist hadn’t paid his protection money in a while. Solicitor, Delinquent and Inventor were asked to check up on him. This was routine. Obviously two shadow mages would come in handy collecting from a flower shop, since Botanist wouldn’t want his entire stock to burn. Delinquent had to tag along because two rookies couldn’t be trusted on their own. It would be an in-and-out operation: threaten some flowers, get the money, get out.

      Until Botanist pulled a gun.

      Inventor reacted first, shooting a shadow tentacle out to grab his arm. It threw off his aim enough that he failed to hit anyone when he pulled the trigger. He struggled and pulled his arm free and aimed again. Inventor repeated his action, but Botanist dodged and fired again. The shot grazed Inventor’s arm. He aimed again, this time pointing squarely at Inventor’s chest, but Solicitor shot first. Botanist fell to the ground with a fresh bullet wound in his chest.

      Delinquent prodded the body with his shoe. “Well, shit.”

      “Oh god,” Inventor said.

      “Fuckin’ hell,” Solicitor muttered, holstering his gun. “Boss ain’t gonna be mad about that, izze?”

      Delinquent shook his head, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Naw. Y’ did what you were s’posed to.”

      Delinquent got on the phone with one of their cleanup guys and let them know what happened. Solicitor, meanwhile, made sure the doors were all locked and nobody else was hiding anywhere else in the store.

      Inventor just fell to his knees and stared at the body. Solicitor checked with him to make sure his arm was okay, but Inventor quietly assured him that it wasn’t a big deal.

      They stayed there while they waited for the cleanup team to arrive. Solicitor bitched the whole time, because he wanted a cigarette and Inventor wouldn’t let him smoke at the crime scene.

      “They’re gonna clean all th’ evidence anyway, who cares?”

      When the cleanup team showed up they stood back and let them do their jobs. Delinquent and Solicitor chatted about who had gotten promotions recently and whether those people deserved them. They concluded that none of them did. Inventor just sat and watched the cleaners work. Once it was all over with and the body was on its way to the river, Delinquent patted the two rookies’ backs and offered to buy them a drink.

      Solicitor looked at Inventor. “Sure,” he said. “But maybe we should have that drink at th’ office. I don’t Inny’s up for goin’ to the bar right now.”

      Delinquent glanced up at Inventor and nodded.

      They made their way to their offices. Being that they were on the bottom, the three had various menial jobs they had to do, mostly involving paperwork, so they had their own tiny, shitty offices in which to do it. They all piled into Delinquent’s office, where he poured them each a drink from the bottle of brandy he kept in his desk. Solicitor chugged his glass, then excused himself for a moment. He returned with some bandages, then pulled Inny’s coat off to tend to his arm.

      “Y’ don’ look so great, Inny,” Solicitor said.

      “W-w-we just, we just killed someone,” Inventor said, before downing his glass in one gulp.

      “Well yeah,” Delinquent said, refilling Inventor’s glass. “He was tryin’a kill you.”

      “W-we killed him,” Inventor said before drinking again.

      “I had t’ do it, Inny,” Solicitor said, finishing with the bandages. He draped Inventor’s coat over his thin shoulders. “I couldn’t jus’ let ‘im shoot ya’.”

      Inventor put his head in his hands.

      “The guy was a lowlife,” Delinquent said, refilling his own glass. “We had all sortsa shit on him, ‘m sure he was hopin’ we’d kill ‘im so he wouldn’t hafta deal with us tellin’ anyone what he’d been up t’.”

      “What was ‘e up to?” Solicitor asked, holding his glass out.

      Delinquent refilled Solicitor’s glass. “Nasty shit. He ran this club for li’l kids t’ go to when their parents were workin, right?”

      “Right?”

      “Yeah, he was touchin’ ‘em.”

      Solicitor shuddered. “Ughh! Fuck, I shoulda shot ‘im more.”

      “Honestly I wanted t’ show up ‘t his li’l club meetin’s ‘n give ‘im what for,” Delinquent said, leaning on his desk. “But th’ fuckin’ boss wouldn’t have it. Said ‘e wouldn’t keep payin’ us if we did anythin’ t’ stop ‘im.”

      “He--he was okay with letting him--letting him abuse children?!” Inventor cried.

      Solicitor frowned. “Kingpin’s th’ worst kinda scum.”

      Delinquent nodded. “‘sa fuckin’ asshole.”

      “This damn mob’d be so much better if I was in charge,” Solicitor said.

      “It’d be better ‘f anyone else was in charge,” Delinquent said.

      “No, no, but me ‘specially,” Solicitor insisted. He put a hand on Inventor’s shoulder. “Right, Inny? ‘m a natural leader.”

      “Y-you are?”

      Solicitor shook Inventor a little. “I am!”

      Delinquent shrugged. “Well, y’ did used t’ be the archagent.”

      “Yeah, see?” Solicitor sipped his drink. “Naturally qualified. Practic’ly ran Derse, ‘n that was way bigger’n a city. At wartime, even!”

      It was obviously an exaggeration. Even Delinquent had to know that the position of archagent, by the time Solicitor was appointed, had been reduced to a mere pencil pusher. Still, they were nicely inebriated and it sounded good.

      Delinquent nodded, grinning. “We gotta think up a better name for ya’ though. Can’t rule th’ city with a shitty name like Perky Soldier.”

      “And we certainly can’t call you b-by your real name,” Inventor added.

      “I need some kinda cool name,” Solicitor said. He motioned vaguely. “Somethin’ scary. ‘n crimey.”

      “Crimey,” Inventor repeated, because he’d drank enough that he didn’t stop himself from criticising Solicitor.

      Solicitor took a long drink, then slammed his glass down. “First word’s gotta be Pulchritudinous. Gotta be.”

      “M-maybe the second word can be ahh, Scumbag.”

      Solicitor shoved Inventor.

      “Honestly, man, who th’ hell can pronounce that?” Delinquent said, jabbing his glass in Solicitor’s direction and spilling a little. “‘s too long. Fuck that shit.”

      “Hey, fuck you,” Solicitor said. “‘s my essence. My very bein’!”

      “Peccant,” Inventor suggested.

      Solicitor thought about it. “Okay, I might settle f’r peccant.”

      “So, Peccant Scumbag?” Delinquent suggested, snickering.

      “Fuck no!” Solicitor stood up. “That ain’t scary! I gotta be feared, okay. ‘m gonna be th’ mos’ powerful motherfucker in this town, th’ most cunnin’ mastermind, th’ mos’ devious scofflaw!”

      Solicitor stopped in mid-gesture. He looked as though a great revelation had been bestowed upon him. Then he laughed.

      “Scofflaw!” he cried. “‘s perfect!”

      “Peccant Scofflaw,” Inventor said. He shrugged and finished his drink. “It isn’t bad.”

      “‘s brilliant!” Scofflaw shook Inventor, then ruffled his hair. “Delly, whaddya think?”

      “‘s easy t’ say,” Delinquent replied. “‘s got that goin’ for it.”

      “That’s all y’ got t’ say?” Scofflaw snatched the bottle of booze from Delinquent’s desk, then refilled his and Inventor’s drinks. “This’s th’ name that’s gonna strike fear int’ th’ hearts ‘f millions. ‘n all y’ care about is how easy ‘t is t’ say?”

      “Can’t rule a city if no one can pronounce your name,” Delinquent said, snatching the bottle back. He looked inside it and frowned at the fact that it was empty.

      “He h-has a point,” Inventor said.

      Scofflaw took a drink and papped Inventor’s arm. “How about you, Inny? Y’ want a new name?”

      Inventor didn’t answer, but he did ogle Scofflaw uncertainly.

      “Gotta be somethin’ scary,” Scofflaw said.

      “Right,” Delinquent said. “Like this asshole’s scary.”

      Inventor frowned.

      “‘s the point,” Scofflaw said. He pinched Inventor’s cheek. “Look at this face. Gotta make people not wanna fuck with ‘im, that way he don’ gotta get in no trouble. ‘sa precaution, right?”

      Inventor swatted Scofflaw’s hand away. “I’ll think of something.”

      “So what’s your plan?” Delinquent said, tossing the empty bottle out the window. “Sneak up on Kingpin ‘n talk ‘is ear off ‘til he hands over the city?”

      “D-don’t throw things out the window,” Inventor said, quietly enough that Delinquent did not hear him.

      Scofflaw scoffed. “Y’ think this’s a joke?”

      Delinquent nodded. “Yeah, ‘xactly that.”

      “‘m a hundred percent serious,” Scofflaw said. “‘m gonna take over this mob.”

      “You’re drunk,” Delinquent said.

      Scofflaw waved a hand. “I am. ‘n ‘m also a hundred percent serious.”

      Delinquent leaned back in his chair. It groaned under his weight, the joints squeaking as though they’d never been oiled. “You’re fuckin’ crazy, ‘n y’ can count me outta this dumbass scheme.”

      Scofflaw considered reminding Delinquent that since he was aware of the plan, he was already involved. Kingpin would come down just as harshly on him for not ratting him out as he would on Scofflaw for orchestrating it.

      Then he realized that such an argument might encourage Delinquent to rat him out, and he decided to take a different approach.

      “Look, Delly, y’ got a kid on the way,” Scofflaw said. “So I get why y’ don’ wanna take risks. Gotta put food on the table, gotta make sure your kid’s got their dad. Right.”

      “Damn right.”

      “But see, here’s th’ thing,” Scofflaw leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. “Kingpin’s the kinda guy who lets child molesters keep touchin’ li’l kids, ‘n for what? Money? When he’s already got plenty? Please.” Scofflaw straightened up, motioning with both his hands. “Is this th’ kinda city y’ wanna raise your kid in? Corrupt to its core, teemin’ with unsavory sorts like that asshole we shot tonight?”

      Delinquent sighed through his nose, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Sol--Scofflaw, whatever, you’re insane.”

      “Not to mention,” Scofflaw continued. “If we do this, you’ll be at th’ top, with me. No more bein’ a mere thug, no shitty paychecks, no gettin’ shafted when th’ boss decides t’ be stingy. Your family wouldn’t want for nothin’. Y’ could spoil that kid rotten if ya’ wanted to.”

      Delinquent glared at Scofflaw for a long while.

      “How’re we gonna pull this off?” He asked.

      Scofflaw grinned wide, more pleased with himself than ever. “Th’ plan’s still pendin’. We gotta find more people sympathetic t’ us, ‘n figure out who we gotta take out.”

      “T--take out?” Inventor said, “S-Sol, I don’t--”

      Scofflaw put a hand on Inventor’s shoulder. “This’s important, Inny. If we stay under Kingpin’s thumb, he’s gonna keep askin’ ya’ t’ do stuff y’ don’ wanna. If I’m in charge, you ain’t gotta do nothin’. Y’ can be our numbers guy, jus’ run th’ books, never gotta hurt no one.”

      Inventor sighed softly and shrugged. “I. I suppose.”

      “Good.” Scofflaw returned his attention to Delinquent. “I can ask Doll t’ keep ‘er ears out, collect intel for us. She got a friend who might be able t’ do the same. For now, that’s what we’ll do. Assess th’ situation, see where Kingpin’s weaknesses are, then strike.”

      Delinquent tapped on his desk, then nodded. “Fine. Good.”

      “Great,” Scofflaw said. He stood and clapped his hands together. “Good meetin’, first meetin’ of the--we’ll need a team name, ‘ll come up with that--but good first meetin’.”

      Scofflaw and Inventor excused themselves and headed home. In the days to come, Scofflaw shared his plans with Doll, and she in turn convinced Bookworm to help. They had their own reasons for doing so. Doll liked the promise of power and influence, and the things it could do for her career. Bookworm was simply tired of Kingpin extorting her.

      Scofflaw named their group the Twilight Scoundrels. He thought it sounded nicely intimidating. Inventor eventually came up with the name Pernicious Innovator for himself. Scofflaw liked it, because it meant he didn’t have to change his nickname.

      Innovator took on the responsibility of collecting and archiving all their intel. For a little while he kept it all in a notebook, until he realized that someone could easily break into their apartment and find their plans, at which point he burned the notebook. Instead he began writing down information, memorizing it, and then burning the page. He wasn’t going to take any chances.

      Scofflaw made friends all around the mob. Most of the time, he didn’t let them in on what he was planning. He just wanted to make sure that when he took over, everyone would already like their new boss.

      They spent months hammering out their plan. Scofflaw was always confident, but over time, the others became confident too. This was doable. The Twilight Scoundrels might actually have a shot at taking over the city.

      They were ready to make their move. They set a date.

      When that date rolled around, they each found themselves locked in their offices, with no obvious means of escape.

      Kingpin had found out. They didn’t know how, but he did.

      They did not sit idly by and wait for death. The three quickly set about finding a way out.


	6. Epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I forgot to post this ages ago whooooooops)

Escaping their offices turned out to be an ordeal far too convoluted and ridiculous for any of their tastes. They managed it, of course, even though it meant fighting their way through Kingpin’s thugs and solving all sorts of weird puzzle shit. Their journey brought them face to face with Kingpin himself, and it became clear to them how he’d managed to keep hold of the city so easily. He was untouchable.

Scofflaw was up to the challenge.

He activated his forbidden technique, his most devastating power. He summoned the holy fires of divine Pulchritude, and they wreathed him in their righteous light. He cut Kingpin down easily, and he laughed. He continued to laugh as the holy fire engulfed him and as he fell from the sky, his wings crumbling.

He wasn’t laughing when he hit the ground.

The Scoundrels crowded around him. Innovator shook him, failing to hold back tears as he realized Scofflaw wasn’t breathing.

“Th--this. This can’t be happening,” he said, his voice cracking.

Bookworm hugged Innovator, petting his hair and shooshing him.

Delinquent stomped off and yelled at nothing while Doll kneeled over Scofflaw, shaking her head.

“No, no no,” she whispered. “Y’--y’ weren’t s’posed t’ die.” She shook him. “Y’ idiot! Y’ fuckin’ showoff! Why’d y’ hafta do that?!”

She sobbed. She pulled him up and held him, crying into his hair.

“We only jus’ got off th’ ground,” she said. She kissed him, gently, on the cheek. “Don’ leave me now.”

She held him tighter, crying openly, her mascara running down her face.

Scofflaw coughed.

She gasped and let go of him. He dropped to the ground and coughed again, blinking up at her blearily.

“Doll…?”

Her eyes were wide as he sat up, rubbing his head. He looked around at his teammates, all now staring at him as though he were a ghost. He might have been.

Innovator hugged him. Doll punched him. Scofflaw fell backwards, pulling Innovator down with him. Innovator refused to let go.

Doll stood up. “Don’ y’ ever scare me like that again!”

She stomped off, joining Delinquent.

“I got no idea what jus’ happened,” Scofflaw said, groaning.

“Y-you died,” Innovator whined, hiding his face in Scofflaw’s neck. “You died, Scoff.”

“‘ll make a note not t’ do that again.” Scofflaw sat up, wiggling free of Innovator’s grip. He looked around. The street was scorched all to hell from the fight. Kingpin lay on the ground, dead and defeated.

Scofflaw stood up and smiled.

“Well, speedbumps aside,” he said to the Scoundrels as a whole. “We did what we set out t’ do.”

“Kingpin’s dead,” Delinquent said.

“We. We c-can take control of the city,” Innovator added.

“There’s still a lot of work left to do,” Bookworm said. “We won’t be the only ones trying to fill Kingpin’s shoes.”

“It’ll be fine,” Doll said, wiping the mascara from her cheeks. She looked at Scofflaw and smiled. “We got this in th’ bag.”

She walked back over to Scofflaw, and he threw his arms around her. The two of them cheered amongst themselves, until Innovator tapped Scofflaw’s back.

“S-Scoff, ahh. We. We should probably leave before the Fuzz arrive.”

They fled, leaving the street behind and heading straight for Kingpin’s offices. With Kingpin gone, the way was clear for them to take control. The girls quickly took a more active role, and changed their names accordingly. Doll became Heinous Doxy, and Bookworm became Nefarious Bawd. There were challengers, of course. Other people wanted Kingpin’s position, people who didn’t like these young upstarts taking the reins, but those people were silenced quickly.

It wasn’t long before Metropolis Central, that glittering city, that light on the horizon after endless desert, belonged to the Twilight Scoundrels.


End file.
